Touchstone
by one.twilight.sun
Summary: This is why she stayed with him.


**Author's Note: I've been waiting for inspiration to strike on a fic for the Hunger Games. I truly expected it to be something along the lines of "we grew back together" even though it's been done a hundred times, but no, Mr. Muse had a different idea. So here we go. It's a little dark. But then, I can't really imagine a fluffy Hunger Games piece. I'm interested in hearing what you think!**

**Touchstone**

It had been ten years and still the effects of the Games can be felt. It would forever be a crack in the souls of man, kept up for posterity, for reminder of what mankind could become, a memorial to all those children who had been lost. Who knew how far the ricochet would go?

She sits on the edge of their bed, the early afternoon light finding its way to her, the warmth unable to break through the ice encasing her. There are birds outside, little sparrows singing their song. She can hear a lawn mower, one of the town boys taking care of the square of grass in Victor's Square. And yet, in the stillness of her room, it is a vacuum, a silence that beats in her ears.

Laying in her hand is a simple white pill.

She stares at it, not even feeling the weight of the thing. So light and yet so deadly. But wasn't that how all Capitol-made things had been way back when? A city dressed up and glittering across Panem, showing the wealth of the country, nevermind the poor living conditions of the rest of the Districts. The Capitols dying their skin blue, tattooing fur across their shoulders, wearing the most delicate and outlandish clothing, yet choking on their own inability to perceive a world outside their own, the children's deaths that tainted their jewelry and gadgets. The Hunger Games, a glorified bloodbath; Tributes paraded out in front of them like pretty little dolls.

Her breath is shallow, her hand shakes a little. Peeta was at the Bakery and he doesn't know. He would be so mad at her for this but she couldn't risk it, couldn't have another person come into this world and suffer as they had. Leave reproduction to the stupid people, the ones who didn't care about the future, about what could happen to their children.

She didn't know how it had happened. She thought that they'd been being so careful. But yet she'd found herself having to push away the nausea, ignore what the inevitable vomiting that followed meant. Thankfully this happened long after Peeta had left for the shop. Her heart squeezes at the thought of her partner and she blinks back the tears in her eyes.

After a week with the sickness in the morning not getting better, she'd taken herself to the apothecary's and gotten a pregnancy test, ignoring the delighted sparkle in the apothecary's eyes. She'd felt dead inside, a sense of foreboding wrapping itself tightly around her. Her movements had been stiff and her mind incredibly blank as she'd seen the sign on that test.

_Positive._

Thoughts of Prim, of Rue, of the hundreds of children from the 75 years of Hunger Games, of the children she'd seen die in front of her eyes, children that _she'd _had a part in killing swarmed up to wrap themselves around her throat. And she'd panicked. She'd run out of the house, out past the old fence line and into the woods. She'd run and run, barely avoiding tripping over branches, feeling the early spring breeze biting against her face, ignoring the animals that fled in front of her path. When she'd finally been able to stop, she'd found herself on a ridge, the ground steeply cutting off, dropping sharply to a rushing river below, winter snow from somewhere swelling the waters.

She'd stood there for some time until she realized that Peeta would be home soon and wondering where she was. She'd made her herself go back. She'd let herself into the house and put together a very simple dinner, deciding for the moment to ignore the fact that she was pregnant. She could put on a good show, if only to not worry Peeta.

That night, he'd held her close and she'd held him back just as tight, hoping that his presence would fight back the nightmares, as he'd been able to do in all the years since their first Game. He was her own knight in shining armor, his very self so pure that she didn't want to burden him with what she had just decided to do.

And so she finds herself alone, wrestling with herself over the fact that what she is about to do is the same as what the Capitol did to the District's children.

She reaches for the glass of water next to her just as she hears a movement outside the room and pulls back suddenly, eyes wide at the doorway where Peeta has just appeared.

He's smiling in his charming way. "I forgot my—" he cuts himself off as he registers the look on her face, his eyebrows coming together in concern. "What's wrong?"

She'd had little time to school her features into something that doesn't reflect the turmoil inside of her, deceit being somewhat foreign to her these days, especially with him. She shakes her head and tries to give a little laugh that sounds more like a wheeze, her hand closing over that little white pill in her hand. "I was just lost in my thoughts. Nothing big."

He doesn't look like he believes her and this is proven when he moves in to sit next to her, wrapping one arm around her and placing his larger hand on top of hers, the one that's fisted in her lap, the one that's holding _it_. She tries not to jerk her hand away from his, but he notices her immediate tensing up.

His eyes grow even more concerned and his fingers find their way through her fist, turning her hand face up, finding the little white pill. His arm drops away as he sits back, holding the seemingly innocent item between his fingers. "What's this?" His voice has lost some of the tenderness always reserved for her.

She looks away, down, towards her hands, hair falling to cover her, unable to face him. Why couldn't she ever just do something right in things that mattered? Why did she have to mess it up and cause him pain?

"Katniss, what is this?" The tone is a little harder.

She takes a small sobbing breath, feelings that she's had to deal with for so many years, once more fresh in her heart, gnawing away at her, inside out.

"I'm pregnant."

The words drop into the heavy silence, crashing through the somewhat content life they'd managed to weave together. He doesn't say anything because that wasn't the answer to his question. She knows he knows what it is now but he wants her to say it, wants her to be honest to him, as they'd promised to always be one summer day when they'd vowed forever to each other.

"Peeta…I can't do it. Not in our world. I can't do that to someone, to our child." Rare tears are falling, unseen, her dark hair providing a frail barrier.

He doesn't say anything before getting up and moving to the other side of the room, his hand fisted around the pill, his gaze out the window. Long moments pass before he speaks and she tries to cry quietly, not wanting to hurt him further, knowing that her pain is also his. "Shouldn't this be something we decide together?" his voice is quiet now, his low rumble covering the simmering hurt underneath.

She's openly sobbing now, her eyes trying to find his, but they are still turned away to the outside world. Her hands come up to wipe at the streaming, trying to stem the flow. "I know! I know. I didn't want to—to burden you with it. Out of the both of us you're—you're _good_ and I—"

He cuts off her rambling in one swift move to kneel in front of her, grabbing her hands to cover them with his own, his suddenness surprising her, his body heat somehow reaching through to her.

"Honey, Katniss, we're in this_ together_. We share the burdens, the fears, and the nightmares, just as we share the better times we've managed to carve out. There are no Hunger Games now. There hasn't been for a decade." His voice is soothing, his talent for words being used in full. His thumbs come up to wipe at the tears she can't stop as he continues quietly, almost diffidently, "And you know how I feel about children, how I dream of a little Katniss who looks just like her mother, dark-haired and wide-eyed, fierce and lovely."

Her arms reach out blindly for him and he pulls her in, down to the floor with him where she rests her head against his neck, her tears staining his shirt. She allows herself to let go, to take comfort in him, as she's slowly learned to do over time. His hands rub her back soothingly, his face in her hair and they stay like that for some time.

He was always the one who could heal her, the one who would bring life where death seemed to be the only answer. And she loves him for it. She wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for him, and it wouldn't only be because he'd saved her life in the arena, but because of all that he's done to bring sun and growth to her barren spirit. Pulling back, she places a soft kiss on his lips, her soul in the touch and he sighs against her lips, knowing that she's with him now once more.


End file.
